


For the Restless

by Decepticonsensual



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 07:39:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decepticonsensual/pseuds/Decepticonsensual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The aftermath of addiction takes its toll on Drift.  Gasket does his best to understand.  (Warning for mentions of past drug use.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the Restless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Enfilade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enfilade/gifts).



Drift still craves it.  He gets jittery at night, especially when he’s the one on guard duty, and starts snapping his gun at shadows; or, when he’s off duty, he slips out and paces the streets.  Sometimes, he’ll even transform and drive as fast as he can manage through the clogged alleys of the Dead End.  It’s not so much that it’s soothing, as that his body feels compelled into frantic motion.

It’s not physical withdrawal.  That came early on, during the first few days he was off the circuit boosters.  It was nasty, no question – a waking, screaming nightmare is how he describes it now, though he still won’t talk about exactly what he saw.  No.  This is something much milder, but difficult in its own way.  It’s an ache.  You know that feeling when your fuel tanks are so empty that they scorch?  It’s like that, but it’s in his _mind._

So on the nights when it’s worst, Drift goes to see Gasket.

Tonight, he finds him sitting up, reading slowly over a datapad in the light of a stolen neon tube that one of their friends has hotwired into the grid.  (No one pays for electricity in the Dead End, not when it’s a choice between that and fuel.)  Gasket starts when he feels a hand on his shoulder.  Drift is unnervingly good at moving silently, whether he intends to or not.

“Can’t recharge, Drift?”

A shake of the head.  “What are you working on?”

Gasket tilts the pad towards him, although he explains aloud, as well, since he’s never been certain how much Drift can read, if at all.  Written language isn’t a standard installation for all classes of mech.  “It’s a schedule of fuel shipments.  I’m figuring out which are safest to hit, and where.  Could use your advice, actually, since you’re up.”  It’s true, but Gasket also has an ulterior motive for saying it:  Drift’s yellow optics flare almost white, and he ducks his head to hide a smile, whenever Gasket asks for his help.  He drops lightly down beside Gasket and folds his legs under him, as Gasket takes a stick of rust and starts to sketch a map of the Dead End on the floor.

Strategising is good for Drift.  It sets out paths for his overclocked mind to run along.  He’s noticeably calmer while they’re shooting ideas back and forth, but once the plan is finalised, Gasket realises that Drift’s hand has started to beat out a twitchy rhythm on his knee, _ratatatatatat._ He reaches over and takes the hand in his own, rubbing little circles against Drift’s thumb.  “Easy.”

Drift looks away.  “Yeah.  I know, I just…”

“Would a backrub help?  Get the kinks out of your wires.”

The offer makes him hesitate, but only briefly.  Without a word, he turns his back to Gasket and scoots in close, allowing Gasket’s warm, blunt fingers to slip under his plating.  Gasket can feel little remnants of trapped charge crackle against his fingers as he straightens and soothes the cables at Drift’s shoulders, then moves on to his waist.  By the time he slides back up towards his neck, Drift is slumped forward, his engine idling contentedly and the occasional deep, uninhibited moan slipping out of his mouth.

“Better?”  The only reply is a lazy growl and a quick “keep going” gesture with one hand.  Gasket chuckles.  “Don’t be afraid to ask me for one of these next time.  You know I don’t mind.”  Before he can think it through, he bends forward and brushes a brief kiss over Drift’s shoulder.  Under Gasket’s hands, Drift suddenly freezes, his once-relaxed joints tensing sharply.

Gasket pulls his hands back as if he’s been burned.  “Sorry!  I shouldn’t have.  I’m sorry.”  Those yellow optics, dim and wary, are watching him over one shoulder.  _Stupid, Gasket, stupid!  Doesn’t he have enough problems trusting people already?_

Then Drift abruptly seems to come to a decision.  He turns to face Gasket, and slides both hands under his chin, leaning in to press their mouths together.

It’s chaste and awkward, and it occurs to Gasket that for all his vast interface experience, Drift has very likely never kissed before.  He brings his own hands up to stroke Drift’s audio finials, while tilting his head so that the two of them fit together properly.  That causes something to click:  Drift’s lips are gliding enticingly over his, and Gasket is opening his mouth, gently coaxing Drift to do the same.  When their glossas meet, Drift whimpers and digs his fingers into Gasket’s arms hard.

They kiss for ages.  Now that Drift has gotten the hang of it, he’s demanding, his entire body arching against Gasket’s.  When they finally break to look at each other, Gasket is grinning.

“What?” Drift asks sourly, as if he’s afraid he’s being mocked.

There are about seven hundred things Gasket wants to say, but he contents himself with saying, “You.”

**Author's Note:**

> "She comes to me in dreams  
> A trainwreck beauty queen  
> But I don't remember her...  
> For the restless, not the peaceful sleepers  
> This song's for you  
> For the faithless, not the true believers  
> This song's for you."
> 
> \- Tom McRae


End file.
